I remember, many years ago now, I was a mother at home with my little ones, taking time off from work to raise them. I had two lovely children, my eldest born five years before, and my youngest arriving not so long ago.
Let me take you back to a particular memory.
It all began with a list my mother-in-law handed me right after I’d married her son. It was quite a thorough listfull of advice such as particular foods my husband couldnt eat due to his allergies, something I made sure to always consider. That was important, of course. But among her recommendations was this peculiar instruction: I must always iron his underpants, because apparently, if they’re not ironed, they might give him all sorts of bruises or bother him.
At the time, I really didn’t see the harm. I simply thought, Shes just a caring mother. There’s something rather good about a mother looking out for her child, I suppose. I did my best to follow her list; most of it was straightforward enough. But I must admit, ironing underwear struck me as rather odd. Neither my mother nor I had ever bothered with such a thing.
When my son was born, I started with nappies, naturally. But once he began wearing proper pants, I almost automatically started ironing his underpants as well. Before long, the task grewI found myself ironing pants for both of them, creating piles and piles of laundry that seemed to rival any mountain. I persisted, dutifully pressing them with each wash, as my mother-in-law believed the piping hot iron and steam would kill any and all germs. She went so far as to say that my son would do well in life because having freshly ironed underpants was crucial to his health down there.
But you see, the story isnt so much about my mother-in-laws advice as it is about how life changes with a second child. When there are two, especially with one still a newborn, it simply isnt possible to keep everything running right on schedule. Im sure any mother with children so close in age would nod in understanding. I tried to keep up with the most important things, but the mountain of clothes waiting to be ironed just kept getting higher, like the Peak District after a rainy spring.
Only yesterday, my husband told me there were no ironed underpants left in his drawer, hinting with a touch of disappointment that perhaps I ought to get to them. I was simply worn out and suggested he just take a pair from the growing mountain of not yet ironed ones.
That evening, as I headed up for bed, my husband telephoned his motherno doubt to confide that his wife simply hadnt the time any more. He was truly put out with me, all over a few pairs of underpants.
So I wonderdid any of you ever iron your childrens underthings? If so, for how long? And is there some magic trick to speed up the pressing of laundry, or is it all just part and parcel of raising a family in England?
